


Without Question or Pause

by jehane



Category: Les Misérables RPF
Genre: Canon Kiss, Dressing Room Sex, El Ocho, Friendly Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, Love4Orlando, M/M, Mortal enemies kissing, Mutual Pining, Office Romance, Polyamory, The Italian Affair, moping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/jehane
Summary: Jeremy and Adam have an Italian affair. (Peter’s disappointed he can’t be there.)





	Without Question or Pause

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseclare0000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseclare0000/gifts).



There were no two ways about it. Jeremy Secomb was moping.

Adam knew moping when he saw it, and their usually dour Inspector Javert was definitely moping — in a way that was consistent for the title of their show but out of character for his off-duty persona. 

In his two years with Cameron Mackintosh’s finest, Jeremy had become the heart and soul of the Les Mis UK cast and crew: the loveable weirdo, always ready with a joke or a supportive shoulder, and all too happy to encourage a bit of backstage mischief. But for months now, Jeremy had been subdued in a way that couldn’t just be accounted for by his impending departure from the show. There was even something off about the patented Jez scare cams, as if Jez was trying to jolly himself up a bit and convince everyone that all was well.

It was clear that all _wasn’t_ well.

Something needed to be done, and Adam was just the man for the job. That had been his role — at home in Hampshire, at school at the London School of Musical Theatre, and now on the Les Mis set — he was the chap who saw things, and who got things done.

Truth be told, Adam hadn’t really needed his keenly honed powers of observation to realise in short order what was going on. In fact, he’d probably realised it sooner than either of the parties in question. 

After all, he’d been closest to the action, both onstage as the Factory Foreman, Champmathieu and Claquesous, as well as offstage in the long hours spent with his co-workers at the Queen’s. As first cover for Peter Lockyer’s Valjean for two years, he’d been perfectly placed to watch the dynamic between Jez and Peter grow from mutual respect to a deep and enduring trust. Peter could lean on Jez, both onstage as well as off, in a way he’d never managed with Jez’s predecessor, David Thaxton. 

Adam knew first-hand the tremendous responsibility involved in playing Jean Valjean, and while Peter had borne it with the grace and strength characteristic of him, Adam knew what a relief it must have been to have a co-star whom he could share that burden with night after night. It also helped that they had a crackling chemistry as Valjean and Javert: their ‘Confrontation’ was the highlight of their run.

In the same way, Adam had been there when it developed into something more. 

It had been around the time of that terrible shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Florida, when Theatre UK had asked the Les Mis London cast to record a message of support. Someone had suggested a kiss, and that scamp of a Jo Parsons had tried to put the lock on Chris Cowley, their new Enjolras — then Jez had blurted out, _“It should be Javert,”_ , and just like that, there were plans to record a message from an alternate universe where Valjean and Javert were lovers.

Adam had been there for the kiss, as had all the other cast members. Everyone else had expected it to be jokey, but Adam was by this juncture already suspicious that it would not be, and he’d been right.

Peter and Jeremy had stayed in full costume. Jeremy had said his line and leaned in toward Peter, Peter reached across and Jeremy met him, softly, gently, and they kissed each other, like they were two mortal enemies who had become improbable friends, who had maybe learned that love was stronger than their hate.

Everyone had cried, even Adam. “Perfect," said Chris Key, their associate director, putting his iPhone down so he could wipe his eyes. "Let me edit a bit before sending it on, but we're good, we're done."

Jeremy and Peter shared a long, charged look. Peter said, _"Not done yet,"_ and slid his arms around Jeremy and bent him over the table again, and that cemented Adam’s suspicions about what was really going on. 

Since then, the crackling chemistry had just gotten hotter, warming the autumn months and London’s freezing winter. Adam couldn’t believe no one else noticed, although he’d be the first one to admit that the kids who played the Amis and the other youngsters in the cast were way too much into themselves and each other to wonder about the love lives of their boring older colleagues. 

Then had come Pete’s last night, after which he was going to get on a plane and leave for New York City. They had had an emotional goodbye onstage — Peter taking his last bow, and then embracing first Jez and then Rachelle and Zoe, who were also leaving the show. Afterwards, everyone took their turn to hug the man who’d become like a father figure to them.

Of course the cast had given Pete and the girls a proper send off, in the grandest traditions at the Duke of Wellington. Adam had gotten completely trashed and ended up staggering home at 3 am; he was never going to drink Jack Daniels ever again if he could help it.

But before the party, Adam had seen something he shouldn’t. 

It happened because, while everyone else had headed off to get changed, Adam had been delayed by Chris Key, who'd wanted to run through some notes in case there was an issue with cast change and Adam had to go on on Monday. By the time he’d gotten away, most of the guys had already left, and it was quiet backstage. 

The door to Peter’s dressing room was cracked open, though. Through the sliver of light Adam saw two people locked in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” someone was saying. Adam didn’t immediately recognise Jez’s voice. He had never heard his stoic friend sound so raw and almost heartbroken.

“It’s okay,” said Peter’s familiar baritone, low and reassuring; there was a rustling of clothing, and then a choked noise that didn’t sound like Jez at all, a groan filled with desire and desperation…

… Adam’s jaw fell open as he belatedly realised what was happening. He turned tail and fled. 

It was only when he’d reached the lads’ dressing room and got his breath back that he discovered his own inadvertent physical reaction to that intensely private scene. 

Adam had flung on his street clothes and coat and rushed to the Duke of Wellington to try to wipe the incident from his brain. By the time Peter and Jez showed up at the pub, both looking warily pulled together, Adam was almost drunk enough not to stare — at Peter’s swollen lip, and Jez’s red eyes, and how they were being careful not to touch each other, not even when they said goodbye for real.

Things had changed under the tenure of Jeremy’s fellow Aussie, the affable Simon Gleeson. Simon brought a very different dynamic to the set — focused and serious, where Peter was all gentle, smiling, quiet strength —and Jez’s Javert was colder and professional in response.

After a month of Simon, Jez had also left for New York, on his sabbatical to off-Broadway’s Sweeney Todd. Adam used his air miles to fly out for a visit, and Peter made a guest appearance at the lunch they all had on 50th Street. It seemed Pete had been spending quite a lot of time with Jez in New York, now that they were once again in the same city. Doing what together, Adam didn't want to think about.

When Jez came back to London, Adam could see the difference straightaway. Jez still cracked jokes, still wore the ridiculous things he did, still always had a kind word for everyone, but he was quieter than usual, as if everything was all just more of an effort. He didn’t hang about with them after shows as much as he usually did, and when he thought no one was looking, he would lean against the nearest wall and stare off into space.

 _Definitely_ moping.

 

*

 

Over the months, as spring turned to summer, Adam tried his best to cheer his friend up. He screamed loudly when subjected to the scare cam; he bought Jez drinks on the rare occasions when the man came out with them; he tried to offer Jeremy a sympathetic shoulder. When he’d had to stand in for Simon, he tried to mirror Peter’s cadences and artistic choices in the hope that Jez might somehow miss Peter less.

“Is it just me or are you actually sounding more and more like Pete Lockyer in your old age?” Bradley asked him one evening. 

Bradley had been touring Asia with the WICKED cast and had had to take his own sabbatical from _El Ocho_ , the eight-man West End ensemble he and Rob Houchen and Mike Storrs had started on a whim. Now that Bradley was back in London, and the core group was together again, Mike was keen for _El Ocho_ to start rehearsing some new material and to start seriously looking for gigs.

Adam shrugged. “Learned from the best, man. You were there, too.”

“That I was,” said their one-time Enjolras. “Though I think I learned even more from Jez. When does he leave Miz, again?”

“His last day’s in mid-July. After which we get Hayden back.” 

Michael leaned in on the conversation, clapping Adam on the shoulder. “Hey, d’you know what’s next for Secomb? Think he would want to come out with _El Ocho_ again? Mike Lynch says Midas is back on board to produce our summer season, it’ll be a step up from our usual bargain-basement stuff.”

“That sounds like fun,” Bradley drawled. “Think Karl Davis will be able to book us in at the Cannes Film Festival? I figure we could do with a champagne gig in the sun.”

Mike made finger-guns. “I will try! Nothing but the best for my boys. See, Adam, you just ask Secomb casually if he’d like to come sailing along the French Riviera with us and Maria Callas.”

Adam figured the boys were mostly kidding, but _El Ocho_ did in fact book a couple of solid Europe concerts in the summer, including the lake festival at Kaltern am See, on the shores of the idyllic Lake Caldaro, in Italy’s South Tirol. 

"Just as good as the Mediterranean, is what the locals and visitors say," Mike winked when he disseminated the news to the guys at that weekend's rehearsal. "Ask Jez, okay? It's in July, perfect for when he leaves the show."

Adam figured it was worth a shot. Maybe it wasn't Cannes, but it might cheer Jeremy up.

Jeremy squinted at the festival pictures on Adam's iPad: sparkling blue waters, rolling hills of green, vineyards, picture-perfect villages nestled in quiet valleys. "It does look nice," he said, vaguely. "What’s _El Ocho_ planning on doing this time?"

Adam said, "The same old crowd-pleasers? We’ll probably keep the pop songs, Michael Jackson and Queen. You want to sing ‘Nessun Dorma’?"

Jez shrugged. "You know I’m always up for a bit of Queen."

They ended up with quite a bit of Queen: “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Under Pressure” and “We Will Rock You”. In addition, they added “The Prayer”, “Ave Maria”, “Granada”, and “Only You”; for his solo, Adam chose Michael Jackson's amazing “Earth Song”.

Jeremy’s solo pick was “The Impossible Dream” from _Man of La Mancha_. It was a beautiful song, if a bit old school, and perfectly suited to Jez's voice. Adam had to admit the man kind of outclassed the rest of them — of course they were all pretty decent, had been doing this professionally for years, but Jeremy Secomb was in a different league. 

Jez got through his final week with appropriately Javertian levels of angst. By this stage, they’d traded Simon in for Mr. Kinky Boots Killian Donnelly. Adam went on as Valjean early in that week; he thought he’d given been a pretty powerful performance, almost worthy of the dynamic with Pete. He also thought the Inspector’s ponytail might come loose during that night’s final bows as it had done a couple of times earlier in Jez’s run — truth be told, he was rather fond of how much softer the flowing grey hair made Jez look.

People leaped from their seats for “Stars”, and then at curtain calls. On his last night, Jeremy got as long a standing ovation as Peter did. Jez took his bows, smiling, always slightly shy about the unrestrained adulation; Killian clapped him affably on the back, and Adam shouldered his way over in his barricades costume to throw his arms around the man. 

Jeremy’s body was broad and very warm; the air conditioning in the Queen’s was no match for the summer heat. For a moment, Adam felt as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Hey, there’s the party, then we gotta pack,” Jeremy said softly, and it was true — there were pints at the Duke of Wellington awaiting them, and the next day they would be flying together to Italy. Adam couldn’t wait.

 

*

 

Kaltern am See was everything Mike had advertised. Crisp air, sunshine, an expanse of green hills and valleys, the famous lake that reflected its frame of spectacular mountain peaks like a mirror. 

When Adam opened his hotel room window, he let in the Mediterranean breeze and the view of the balmy summer sky.

Jez was the only one at breakfast. Mike wasn’t really a morning person, Bob Broad and the other guys had been partying too hard the night before, and it seemed Oliver Metcalfe had missed his Gatwick connection and was trying to rebook himself on the afternoon flight.

Adam took a pew beside the former Inspector Javert. Jeremy Secomb, star of West End and New York stages, was wearing a white straw hat and an orange-and-white-and-pink shirt, khaki shorts that showed off his muscular calves, and rubber flip-flops. His eyes were as transparent as the sky above.

“What an amazing sight,” he said, waving his hand at the hotel terrace and the stunning view of the lake beyond it.

“Yeah,” Adam said; he wasn’t sure if he meant the scenery or Jeremy’s powerful legs. Maybe it was a bit of both. Regardless, he was finding it difficult to look away.

They both tweeted photos of the actual scenery, the lake and sky and mountains. Adam sent a photo to his mum and another to his brothers. Jez sent several to his wife, Karen, who was apparently back in Kent; she was teaching a summer course at the Rochester Performing Arts College, where she’d joined the teaching faculty as a fellow. 

Jez wolfed down his eggs as he spoke about Karen’s plans. Then: “When I get back to the UK, I’m thinking about renting out the house and moving down to Rochester. Till my next gig, anyway.”

Adam had never been married, though he’d been close to closing the deal with Anna in Southampton, before she’d realised he would never be happy as a pharmacist with a 9-to-5 job and she’d left. 

“Commuting must’ve been tough?” he ventured. “Though, I don’t know, it’s probably better than doing the long distance thing.”

Jeremy was silent, and Adam belatedly realised Jez probably did do the long distance thing, with Karen in Rochester and Jez cycling back to their London terrace after every show. Then he realised Jez was doing whatever he was doing with Peter as a long distance thing, too, and wanted to bite his tongue. Would almost have, too, if not for his big solo that night.

At last Jeremy patted his shoulder, a little awkwardly. “Love is tough,” he said, and all Adam could say, helplessly, was, “I guess so.”

 

*

 

They spent the afternoon rehearsing. They weren’t just here to have fun in the sun, after all. 

It was true, Adam would have definitely preferred lazing by the hotel pool, or visiting the nearby vineyards and tasting the famous local Gewürztraminer, but there was work to be done — the lake stage was beautiful, but the sound mix was off, and some of the choreography needed to be re-worked.

Oliver pitched up just in time for their big group number, “You Can Leave Your Hat On”. He eyed Jeremy, who was enthusiastically side-stepping to the thumping bass beat.

“And I thought your Crocs were the ugliest thing a man could wear,” he said to Adam, when they paused to run through the blocking again.

“Hey! You don’t need Prada sandals when you’ve got talent like that.”

Oli looked at Jeremy as if he couldn’t believe that gorgeous operatic tenor was housed in a vessel clothed in Hawaiian print and Birkenstocks. “That is true. That man there is the real deal, even though his shoes are terrible. We’re lucky he decided to come and fill in for Bradley. Well, lucky till he sings every one of us off stage, anyway — which he will surely do, even to you, my son, no offence.”

Adam didn’t have to reach very far back for the memory of standing toe to toe with Jez, winding his voice around that phenomenal tenor. “None taken,” he said. “Jez does do it to everyone he sings with.”

Except, of course, one man.

Adam had thought the Italian sunshine had done Jeremy some good; he’d become a lot more relaxed, for one, and seemed more himself. But after lunch and as the day wore on, Jez started to get kind of wound up; fiddling with his mic, checking his phone, missing a step or two onstage, picking at his dinner. 

Adam knew the other guys thought it was normal — performers dealt with nervous energy in stranger ways; he knew he always fiddled with his own mic — but Jez had always been a rock before every performance, and this weird antsiness was really unlike him.

Finally it was time for them to get dressed in their matching sharp suits and head on out. As Adam was fixing his cuffs and everyone was heading out of the mass dressing room, Jez’s phone rang.

 _God on high, hear my prayer…_ With that ringtone, it could only be one person.

“Hi,” Jez said, breathlessly; Adam had never known him to be out of breath. “What time is it?” 

Adam had the vague sense of what Jez no doubt already knew: it was around noon in New York.

Peter must have asked a more pointed question about the show, because Jez said, “We’re just getting ready to go on for our first set.” He paused, listening to something Pete said, and then locked eyes with Adam. “Yeah, Adam’s good. You want to say hi?” He grinned at Adam, held the phone away from his mouth and framed the words, “Pete says hi!”

“Say hi back for me,” Adam said. For some reason, he couldn’t stop grinning. Maybe it was the look of sheer happiness on Jeremy’s open, honest face. 

“Showtime,” Mike said, meaningfully; “wrap it up, Romeo,” and Jeremy said into the phone, “Look, I have to go.”

As the guys all pushed into the corridor, into the excited hubbub of over a thousand people that reverberated through the concert venue, Adam saw Jeremy break into a small smile, still cupping the phone to his ear. Maybe it was a trick of light, but it looked like his friend was blushing a bit, and Adam had never known Jez to blush, either.

“Yeah, me too,” he murmured, to the man in New York on the other end of the phone, and Adam realised what Peter must have said. 

“Talk to you after the show,” Jez said, and slid the phone into his pocket; he took a rapid step toward Adam and slung an arm around his neck as they both hurried to catch up with the others.

He was _definitely_ blushing.

“Pete okay?” Adam wanted to know. They might be getting ready to head to the stage, to perform in front of thousands, but there were some things that were just as important.

“Yeah, as good as can be. He says break a leg to _El Ocho_ , knows we’ll smash it tonight.”

Adam paused to picture that good, handsome man, who had been a better Valjean than Adam would ever be, who had been an unselfish tower of strength to all who had stood on that Queen’s stage with him. Who had maybe fallen a little in love with his co-star during their amazing run, and Jeremy with him.

Maybe Adam knew a little about how that felt, too.

Up close, Jeremy’s blush had turned his cheekbones scarlet. His eyes were bright against his new Mediterranean tan. He looked like a man who had finally found something he’d been looking for, a thing he’d found after weeks and months of tilting at windmills, like the famous knight in the musical whose song he had chosen to sing.

The summer heat mingled with the heat of Jez’s body and Adam’s own, curling from under their matching navy suits, to where their hands were linked. 

The sound of the crowd rose around them — a thousand people who were more than happy to dream Jez’s impossible dream — and there was the one man, an ocean away, who would be dreaming it as well.

“Thanks for asking me to join you guys out here,” Jez murmured. “It’s been a fantastic trip, and an end to a fantastic ride.”

“This one’s just beginning,” said Adam, and drew Jez with him into the bright lights of the stage.

**Author's Note:**

> So many beta thanks to Esteven and Beds!
> 
> [Kaltern Seespiele](http://www.kaltern.com/en/events-highlights.html) was a new lakeview festival at Kaltern am See - also known as Caldaro al Lago – "a festival for music lovers who enjoy good food and wine in graceful surroundings".
> 
> [El Ocho](http://www.elochomusic.com/whoswho/)'s usual lineup, and the one at [its performance at Kaltern](https://twitter.com/VOXonstage/status/889448778129965056).
> 
> [Adam](http://www.pickwyck.com/blog/adam-bayjou-is-one-of-a-kind) [intel](http://www.adambayjou.com/cv-3/) [here](https://actors.mandy.com/uk/actor/profile/adam-bayjou).
> 
> Jez sings [The Impossible Dream](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Impossible_Dream_\(The_Quest\)) from 1965 Broadway musical Man of La Mancha, from which the story’s title comes.


End file.
